


deep red is blurring my eyes

by Neurotoxia



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26220787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurotoxia/pseuds/Neurotoxia
Summary: Red was a good colour. Tseng had dabbed away blood from Reno’s forehead and lips too many times to count when a mission had become a little more physical than expected. Blood was a fascinating substance.But now, now there was too much of it.
Relationships: Reno/Tseng (Compilation of FFVII)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	deep red is blurring my eyes

**Author's Note:**

> In which I dust off some older pieces of fic that were rotting in a dark corner and finally finish them.
> 
> Crookedspoon as usual provided guidance and continues to put up with my baffling habit of leaving half-finished fics to age in a forgotten basement.
> 
> Comments and kudos make this writer’s day!

No one ever asked what Reno’s favourite colour was, and no one had to – he practically exuded his fondness of red. Fewer would guess that over time, it had become Tseng’s favourite, too. Tseng liked the contrast of spiky strands of long red hair against his skin when he wrapped them around his fingers while Reno’s head rested in Tseng’s lap during a film. The sharp tattoos on his cheekbones (covering up a scar on the left side Reno never talked about) were the same fiery red as his hair, enticing Tseng into running the tip of his fingers over them whenever he had a chance to get close in private. Reno drove an old red muscle car he had spent years working on; and it was his favourite toy right after Shinra’s helicopters. Reno even drove it carefully. Tseng, who had a more risque style of driving, had only been allowed to drive once and then never again. 

Red suited Reno’s character most. His temper was hot and fiery, barely restrained and prepared to take everyone down with him. He was like a wildfire and a pyromaniac to boot. Reno loved to set things on aflame and bathe the surroundings in orange and red. With Rude’s penchant for explosives, they were a volatile bunch that had given Tseng more than one headache. 

Reno’s favourite underwear were blood-red boxer briefs. They were also Tseng’s favourites and he had often removed them with his teeth – or not at all because they accentuated Reno’s bottom perfectly.

In a drunken stupor, Reno had once admitted that he sometimes got off to the thought of Tseng in five-inch stilettos and nothing else. Tseng had decided Reno deserved a treat for his birthday that year and brought red stilettos and nothing else to their private two-person party.

Red was a good colour. Tseng had dabbed away blood from Reno’s forehead and lips too many times to count when a mission had become a little more physical than expected. Blood was a fascinating substance.

But now, now there was too much of it. Too much red. Far too much, even for Reno. It bloomed on the white of his shirt like a grotesque Rorschach pattern. Tseng pressed his hands on it, Reno gasping for air beneath him, the lines of his face sharp with pain.

“You fucking idiot!” Tseng hissed in rare vulgarity, adding his suit jacket beneath his hands to stem the swell of blood. It didn’t slow down, continuing to flow out in a mockery of Tseng’s attempts.

Reno barked out a short laugh. “You’ve always loved calling me that.”

Tseng’s eyes stung, his throat ran dry, leaving him unable to swallow. The bullet had been for him. It should have hit him – would have, if Reno hadn’t pushed him out of the way, putting himself in the line of fire instead. Taking a bullet for the President is one thing, it was part of their job, but Tseng couldn’t accept Reno taking a bullet for him. Tseng had no idea who had shot, too shocked by seeing Reno go down to pursue. As leader of the Turks, he had plenty of enemies. What he did not have plenty of was healing Materia.

“If you die, I’ll kill you.”

“I think the bullet might beat you to it,” Reno snorted, looking down at his now deep red shirt. His skin was much paler than usual, almost grey. Reno’s breathing has grown laboured, every breath conjuring up pain in his expression. The bullet had probably nicked a lung in addition to Leviathan knows what else. Under Tseng’s shaking hand, the thrum of Reno’s pulse felt slow and barely detectable. Tseng himself felt the edge of being overwhelmed with nausea and exhaustion.

“Shut up, Reno,” Tseng whispered and began to open his cuffs.

“Tseng, leave it.” Reno’s hand wrapped weakly around his wrist, stilling his motion. “We’re a million miles from civilization, I’ve lost too much blood already and that freaking bullet hit a few vital things. Potions won’t do shit. You know it, I know it. So stop the fretting, damnit.”

Tseng’s hands fell from Reno’s chest, useless. The blood had soaked the fabric of his jacket through and through and still hadn’t stopped. Slowed down, but in this case, it wasn’t a good sign.

“I know,” Tseng uttered, his voice small and defeated. He barely recognised it himself. “I know.”

With all the resolution he could muster, he carefully pulled Reno’s head into his lap and took the hand of the man who had been his protégé, his second-in-command, his brother and his lover. 

“I bet Rude will be pissed,” Reno murmured, caressing the underside of Tseng’s blood-smeared wrist with a thumb. His eyelids grew noticeably heavier.

Tseng chuckled softly. “He might quit.” He didn’t really want to think about telling the others. So far, he didn’t even want to think of the coming five minutes.

“Nah,” Reno smiled. “He wouldn’t leave. Knows I’d kick his ass if he did.”

In a cheesy film, they would whisper declarations of love to another, saying profound things while they still could. Their reality didn’t quite work like that. Neither Tseng nor Reno were ones for declarations, they had never felt the need to say it to each other to know it was true. And in the end, they were a bunch of corporate assassins. Death held no poetry, no mystery. It was messy, often cruel, and it hurt. Maybe the knowledge made it hurt even worse.

Eventually – Tseng couldn’t say if it was a matter of minutes or just seconds – Reno’s breathing slowed to a standstill, the hold around Tseng’s wrist and hand slackened. 

Ever since that moment, Tseng couldn’t look at red again.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from “Deep Red” by Apoptygma Berzerk.


End file.
